Bedtime Story
by MissMelysse
Summary: Happy New Year 2016. In this holiday fable that spans both parts of "Times Arrow," Data sends a very special message to Zoe, and a very special little girl hears her mother tell a bedtime story. Data/Zoe.(Special appearances by Captain Picard and Guinan.) CRUSHverse. Oneshot.


**_Disclaimer: _****_Star Trek: The Next Generation_** ** _, the_** **U.S.S. Enterprise** ** _, and all the canon characters belong to CBS/Paramount. Anything else is mine. Reviews are better than chocolate; don't be shy._**

 ** _Continuity Note_** ** _: The bulk of this piece takes place six months after the end of_** ** _Crush II: Ostinato._** ** _It spans both parts of the episode, "Time's Arrow," but the dates are intentionally vague. See the notes at the end of the chapter, for more. The bookends take place between "Strawberry" and "I Grieve with Thee," but closer to the former than the latter._**

* * *

 **Bedtime Story**

 **"** **There are still many Human emotions I do not comprehend; anger, hatred, revenge, but I am not mystified by the desire to be loved or the need for friendship. These are things I do understand.** **"  
**

 **(=A=)**

 ** _December, 2384_**

 ** _Harris Farm, Fair Haven, Centaurus_**

 _"Alright," I said to the golden face on the comm-link screen. "Navigate carefully, and I'll see you when you get here. I love you." I cut the signal and went to finish the job of tucking my six-year-old daughter into bed for the night."_

 _"Where's Daddy?" she asked. "He didn't go away again, did he?" Her dark eyes were wide and scared in her pale-olive face._

 _My husband had been lost to us for four years. Roughly a year after his return, our daughter still feared that he would disappear again, and I was quick to smooth her chocolate curls and reassure her. "Daddy went to the central spaceport to meet_ _Grand-père's_ _transport, but it was delayed, and they won't be here until very late."_

 _"How late?" she wanted to know._

 _"Too late for little girls to wait up, Lizzy-Bee. Do you want me to read to you tonight?" Storytime had become a ritual between my daughter and her father, and I hated to encroach upon the thing that had brought them back together after his… absence._

 _"Daddy promised to do the voices in the next chapter." Her father's version of 'doing the voices' was vastly different than my own. "But you could tell me a story."_

 _"Oh, I could, could I?" I teased._

 _"Yes." She demanded in her best imperious tone, "Begin, please"_

 _I sat on the edge of her bed. "And what kind of story would Her Majesty care to hear?"_

 _"Tell me about the doll."_

 _"The doll?"_

 _"Mommy, you know what I mean. The doll in the box. The crack-nutter."_

 _Crack-nutter? What was my child on about? But realization struck. "You mean the_ _nutcracker_ _?" I asked._

 _"Yes. The one in the box."_

 _I smiled. I'd first told Elizabeth this story a year before, on another December evening when we were waiting for her father to come home. I hadn't thought she'd remembered. "Alright then. This story takes place a long while ago, when I was just about the same age that your Uncle David is now…"_

 **(=A=)**

 **Spring, 1894**

 **La Barre, France, Earth**

His horse was exhausted by the time the courier approached the door of the home at the center of the vineyard. _Chateau Picard_ , he'd read on the gates. When he'd agreed to undertake this journey, he'd expected to be making the delivery to a law firm, or a bank, not some broken-down farmhouse surrounded by a scraggly field full of half-dead grapes.

He checked the address again, just to be certain, but the words written in that precise, angular script matched the name on the gate.

He raised the handle on the knocker and let it fall, once, twice, three times.

A full five minutes later a bald man with a large nose opened the thick, wooden door. "What do you want? We don't give hostel to vagrants," was the gruff greeting.

"Please, sir. I represent the interests of an… an unnamed benefactor. I'm not a vagrant; I'm a courier, and my employer has instructed me to compensate you for the favor I'm to ask. Please, are you André Picard?"

For a long moment, the courier waited while the dour man considered. Finally, he was issued the invitation, "You'd better come in, then. I'm the man you seek."

The courier retrieved the purse, the package, and the paperwork he'd been sent with, and followed the vintner – he must be the vintner – into the dark house, even as a young boy slipped past him murmuring that his horse would be well tended. He wasn't sure how he knew, but somehow, he was certain that this Picard fellow would do as he was asked.

 **(=A=)**

 **December 2368**

 _ **U.S.S. Enterprise**_

"Data!" I jumped, not realizing my boyfriend had even returned to our quarters (I loved that phrase – _our quarters_ ) until he'd touched the bare foot I'd kicked up behind me while I was sprawled on our bed, reading. "Seriously, between you and Spot I feel like I'm living with ninjas."

"While I agree that Spot's claws often seem to be dagger-sharp and quite precise in their aim, I believe you are exaggerating. In any case, I apologize for startling you. May I have your full attention, for a few moments?"

Whenever Data wanted my total attention, it meant something bad was happening. Or at least something significant. Too often, the two were the same. Still, declining his request wouldn't keep reality at bay. I set a marker in the text so I could pick up at the same place later, turned off my padd, rolled over, and sat up. "I'm all yours."

Data sat next to me on the bed. "You are aware that the _Enterprise_ was at Earth because we were called there to investigate an historical discovery," he began, waiting for me to nod.

"I knew it was something official. I'm just glad you told me _before_ I booked commercial transport." The great ship had been called home just as I was ending my six-month stint with the Idyllwild theatre troupe.

"Indeed." He took a beat before continuing his story. "The discovery in question was my head."

"Excuse me?" I'd known him for more than two years, and it had been almost a year since we'd decided we were, in fact, a couple, and he could still surprise me with his matter-of-fact announcements about bigger-than-life things. "I didn't realize it had gone missing."

"It has not… yet."

I used his line on him, though I resisted the urge to also use his inflection. "I do not understand."

"Several days ago, the captain was contacted about an archaeological find on Starfleet's property in San Francisco. The details are not public knowledge, so I must ask you to be discreet…" He trailed off, watching my face to gauge my reaction.

Months before, when he had asked for similar discretion at the captain's behest, it had led to our first fight. I had been angry, then, because he had actually asked me, rather than just assuring the captain I would keep their secrets. The request he'd just made, however, was personal, and meant only that he really did trust me. "I won't tell anyone," I promised, but then I added. "Data… you don't have to tell me that, okay? I knew from day one that just like there are things you _can't_ tell me, there are also things you might need to tell me, because they impact my life. So, unless it's about books, music, art, or Spot, you can safely assume, I'm not repeating anything to anyone."

"Very good," he said, and even though our discussion was a serious one, I smiled slightly at the phrase he only ever used in 'officer mode,' but he was already continuing. "My cranial unit was apparently lost in the cavern beneath the city sometime in the late nineteenth century. Right now, the ship orbiting a planet called Devidia II, because, in addition to the items the archaeologists found, we discovered evidence of a life form native to that planet."

"I'm guessing said 'evidence' is also five hundred years old?" I said. "Otherwise it wouldn't really be of interest, would it?"

"Yes, it was," he answered, "and no, it would not."

"And you're telling me this because… oh." I suddenly understood his subdued demeanor and the reason he was telling me about the mission. "You think there's a connection between Devidia II and that cave. You're going to be on the away team that beams down to find out. You believe you're going to somehow wind up in 19th century San Francisco and… and die there." I wasn't asking him. I wasn't stupid. I knew how to make those kinds of leaps.

"Yes," he said. "Zoe, I apologize, but it is likely that I will die."

"No," I protested. "I don't accept that. If anyone can lose their head and manage to recover from it, it's you."

"That may be so," he countered. "But I do not believe it is, and I do not wish you to 'get your hopes up.' An away team has already investigated the planet." Data didn't have to tell me why he hadn't been on it. I knew that Captain Picard was as protective of him as I was, in his way. "However, they have reached an impasse. It would appear that my positronic brain gives me a crucial ability that is needed in order to complete the investigation." He was being vague, I knew, for my benefit.

A year before, I might have burst into tears. A year before, I might have childishly demanded that he bow out of the mission for his own good. I did neither of those things. Instead, I asked in a flat voice, "So, when do you leave?"

"Oh-eight-hundred hours, tomorrow."

"Do you mind if I use the comm-link on your console?"

His expression changed to one that held a hint of amusement, and more than a hint of affection. "Must I remind you that these quarters are yours as well as mine? You do not have to ask to use the comm or anything else."

"Figure out a way to survive and I'll figure out a way to remember that," I challenged him, but the intended humor seeped out of it. I left the bedroom and used the comm to cancel a planned dinner with my friends, then I returned to the bedroom, where Data was still sitting, though Spot had joined him. "Come with me," I invited.

"Zoe?"

"I refuse to believe that tonight is our last night together, but even if it is, we're not spending it hiding from the world. Keiko has a display of Christmas trees in the arboretum, and I want to see them all decorated and lit up. I'm told she's got sprigs of mistletoe here and there, so if you play your cards right I'll let you kiss me beneath one of them."

I could see him considering other ways to spend the evening, at least one of which probably involved researching ancient San Francisco, but he must have discarded them because he nodded once and said, "As you wish."

 **(=A=)**

Seeing the Christmas trees had done nothing to make me feel better. I had barely been living with Data long enough to completely unpack, and the question of decorating for a holiday only one of us celebrated hadn't yet come up.

There should have been time.

When we returned to our shared home, the space that had felt so cozy and right just a few weeks before seemed bland and unfinished.

 _Data couldn't really die on this mission… could he? I'd only been back on the ship for a couple of weeks. We hadn't even settled into a comfortable rhythm in our joint home. It wasn't fair._

"Zoe?"

Data's voice roused me from my melancholy thoughts. "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"I asked if you wished to have dinner in Ten-Forward, or if you would prefer to stay home."

"Home, I think. Do you mind?"

He said that he didn't, but I knew he was experiencing his version of worry, the last thing I wanted to invoke for an away mission.

"Actually, no. Let's go out." I changed my mind.

 **(=A=)**

It turned out that the buzz of Ten-Forward was exactly what I needed. In one corner, several tables had been pushed together and a mix of officers and civilians – Lieutenant Worf among them – were spinning a dreidel. In another section, a group of visiting Anticans were telling their favorite Solstice stories, each storyteller trying to outdo the next, and in yet another part of the room a group comprised mostly of humans was singing Christmas carols around the piano.

We didn't join any of the groups, but we had a pleasant - if serious - conversation about what mortality means to someone who has always assumed himself to be functionally immortal, but then we turned to lighter topics, like the need for holiday rituals and the use of candles and music in celebrations, and the whole time, I let the sound of people coming together to share their traditions wash over me.

When we finally retired to our quarters for the night, I was in a much better frame of mind. We fed Spot, watched a winter-themed video, and went to bed early.

Our love-making that night was sweet and tender, and when I was teary, afterward, it was as much because of the physical sensations our intimacy provided as it was from the knowledge that it might have been our last time.

I fell asleep to the sound of Data singing softly as his long, gold fingers roamed over my bare skin.

"If I loved you  
Time and again I would try to say  
All I'd want you to know

If I loved you  
Words wouldn't come in an easy way  
Round in circles I'd go…"

 **(=A=)**

I couldn't have been asleep for more than an hour, when I heard Data's voice calling my name, and felt him pulling me close, as much to comfort me as to keep me from flailing. "… having a nightmare," he was saying.

I'd been dreaming of his memorial, actually, but abruptly, I was wide awake, something he'd said at dinner having triggered, not sadness, but anger.

"How could you?" I asked, sitting up in our bed. "How _could_ you sit there and tell me mortality makes you more human? You've already got more humanity in you than anyone I know. Death doesn't make you more or less human. It just makes you dead."

"It is not the act of dying I was referring to," came his calm explanation. "It was the knowledge that I _can_ … die."

"You've always had that knowledge. You might not be able to die of natural causes, but you can absolutely be injured to the point of death. I've seen you close to it at least twice."

"You misunderstand me, Zoe. I do not _wish_ to die."

We'd gone around in circles until, finally, I was too tired to argue any longer. Data had kissed away my tears and soothed me back to sleep against his chest, with his nose buried in my hair.

 **(=A=)**

Hours later, Data woke me to say goodbye. "Come home to me," I instructed, even though I knew it was out of my control.

"I can only try," he said, and kissed my lips before pressing a kiss to the top of my head.

"If you tell me this is just another etude…" I began.

"No… it is not."

I wanted him to give me words, but there weren't any that could make the moment better. One more kiss, and he was gone.

 **(=A=)**

I was curled up on the couch with Spot, not-reading a book when, the evening of the day after Data had gone, when my comm-badge chirped. "Go for Zoe," I responded, expecting it to be either Counselor Troi arranging to stop by for a visit, or my mother checking on me (again). I was surprised when the caller was the captain, summoning me to his ready room.

He was sitting at his desk when I entered the room, but he rose when I arrived, and greeted me warmly. "I haven't had a chance to welcome my favorite sparring partner back to the ship. How are you, Zoe?"

"I'm…" I hesitated. I was worried, confused, and a little homesick, but aside from that. "Well enough, I guess."

"Mmm." His non-verbal noise wasn't quite a grunt, but it also wasn't quite not one. "I thought you might do me the honor of joining me for tea."

I managed a weak smile. "That's kind of you, sir, but… don't you have about a gazillion more important things to do than have tea with me?"

"Are you questioning the captain of the _Enterprise_?" he asked me, in the gruff, teasing tone that had become typical during our conversations. "Most people your age would be quaking in their boots."

I glanced down at my feet, which were covered by my favorite purple combat boots, despite the fact that I was wearing a dress and tights. "I've never really been the quaking type, sir. How 'bout if I promise to look really scared when I leave, and make sure the duty ensign sees my expression."

His bark of laughter was answer enough, and he punctuated it by waving me in the direction of his couch. "Sit down, Zoe," he suggested, and I hastily complied. "You like milk and sugar in Earl Grey, don't you?"

"Yes, sir," I said, and then I added, "thank you," when he presented me with a cup, just before joining me.

I sipped the tea I was given – it was very good, though the bergamot was a little overpowering - and waited to find out why I was there. I had the sense that Captain Picard wasn't just observing me, but was taking my measure. In a way, it was a lot like our boxing sessions, except less sweaty.

Finally, he spoke. "If you believe I asked you here because of Data's mission, you're mistaken."

"No offense, sir, but… I'm pretty sure that if you'd called me here because of _that_ , it would have been to tell me that he really had died, and you wouldn't have given me tea first."

"And yet you haven't asked why you are here."

I shrugged. "I figured you'd tell me eventually."

Under normal circumstances that answer would have earned me more laughter from him. This time, though, he fixed me with the full weight of his gaze, and I suddenly realized exactly why he held the center seat of the flagship. "I think that's enough snark, Zoe." His voice was soft. Not angry, but deadly serious. "Sparring doesn't have to be the only way we interact."

Something in me released a little. "Truth, sir?" He nodded and I continued. "As long as I don't ask, I can pretend it's just tea with my boxing coach, and not a private meeting with the captain of the most famous ship in Starfleet."

"You find me that intimidating?"

"More in thought than in actuality," I said, and then I held up my hand so he would know I wasn't finished. "I'm not being snarky this time. Data chides me for resisting whenever Commander Riker or Counselor Troi includes me in a social invitation, but the reality is that if I weren't dating him, I would never _be_ included in such things. If it hadn't been for his choice to tutor me in music theory in the first place, I would never have even grown close to _him._ "

My tone was actually calm and even, despite my words, but it took effort. "I'm not even eighteen years old, and I'm in a committed relationship with a man who isn't just the only sentient android in Starfleet, he's also the second officer of the fucking _flagship_ –" I froze when the obscenity slipped out. Six months of twenty-four/seven theatre had only made my language use _more_ casual.

The captain quirked an eyebrow at me and I could tell _he_ was fighting the dual impulses to chastise me for my language use, and to chuckle.

"So, honestly, yes, I find you intimidating. You _are_ intimidating. I'm pretty sure a lot of it comes with your job. And I find Commander Riker and Counselor Troi and Dr. Crusher intimidating too, and… there are times when even Data is a little scary. I mean… you know… when he lets the mask slip, and you see exactly what the purest coldest android logic is really like." I didn't add that I found it both _intriguing_ , to use my lover's word, and kind of hot, when Data let his 'real self' show. "So, I hide behind snark because it helps me treat you all like _people_ and not like the big damn heroes you really are."

He did chuckle then, and I really couldn't blame him. "Oh, Zoe. You have no idea how _refreshing_ it is to have someone admit to that."

"I'm sorry, I crossed a line, I think."

"Did you?" he challenged, but that amused twinkle was still in his eye.

I grinned. "Maybe just a little. You know, a toe-length." I took a beat, let the mood settle, and then asked, "So, unless you're trying to rid yourself of this over-bergamotted tea, why _am_ I here?"

"Over-bergamotted?" he asked, openly amused.

"Sorry, I have a tendency to make up words, sometimes."

"That must drive Data crazy."

I smiled. "Oh, it does."

"Be that as it may," he said, "I actually brought you here for entirely personal reasons."

"Sir?" I was honestly perplexed.

"There is a legend in my family," he began. "Of a time roughly five hundred years ago, when the vineyard was in disarray, and Chateau Picard was not far from being in the hands of debt collectors."

"I always thought your family label was small, but fairly successful."

"Oh, yes – now. But in the late nineteenth century my ancestors were less concerned with making wine and more concerned with drinking it. The head of the family at the time, Madame Thérèse Picard, had entered mourning for her husband, and never quite recovered, while her older boys were content to drink away the family fortune."

"You make your family history seem like something out of Dickens."

"More like Hugo," he corrected me. "In the spring of eighteen-ninety-four, Thérèse's third and youngest son, André, came into an unexpected sum of money. He always claimed that it was given to him from an 'unnamed benefactor,' though speculation over the years has included everything from gambling to privateering as the true source of his windfall."

"Wait, members of the Picard family were _pirates_?"

" _Privateers_ ," he corrected.

"Still…"

"Do let me tell my story, young woman."

It was my turn to arch a brow at him, but I didn't argue. I only said, "Sorry, sir. Please go on?"

"Old André hired consultants, and managed to resurrect the vines. As the label grew in profit, he bought out his brothers, and eventually became head of the family. Despite the fact that he was neither young nor terribly attractive, he married a woman who was both, and together they raised two children, each of whom stayed on to run the family business."

"My grandmother's farm has been in the family for generations, too," I said. "Not as many, obviously, but…"

"So you have some understanding of the tie that farmers – because vintners are still farmers, after all – have to their land and their legacy."

"Some," I said. "I know I'd be heartbroken if we ever lost the property."

"Quite so. As the generations went on, the winery was passed from father to son, until, finally, my elder brother inherited it. And with it, came the story of the courier who delivered our mysterious benefactor's boon, along with a box that was meant to be kept safe until the time came to deliver it."

"Someone saved your family farm just to get a package delivered? That seems a bit far-fetched."

"And yet, it happened."

"It's not just a story?"

"No. When the ship arrived at Earth in response to Starfleet's summons, I contacted my brother. We are… not close… but…"

"But it's what you do," I said softly. "With family."

"Indeed. Now, typically Robert makes up an excuse not to see me, or I claim to have no time, but this time, Zoe, he asked me to meet him in Paris. Our meeting was brief, and to a purpose. He handed me a box, and told me it was my job to deliver it."

"Captain, I'm confused," I said, feeling more than a little like Data must when I was having seemingly opposite, but simultaneous, emotional reactions to something. "Why are you telling me this fable?"

"Because, Zoe. The box is for you."

"That's not funny."

"Nor is it meant to be." He reached down to the floor beside him, where, I realized, a box had been sitting the whole time. "Have a look."

I'm not sure which was more shocking; that my name: Zoe Harris, _U.S.S. Enterprise_ was written on the label, or that I recognized the precise, angular, handwriting. "Oh. My. God."

In my head, of course, I heard my boyfriend's typical response to that phrase: _No, Zoe. I am only Data._

"You don't have to open it here," the captain said. "But I have to admit, having only recently learned the family legend was true, I'm curious to know what we've been holding for so long."

"It's from Data," I said, as I began to open the package. It bore traces of straw from the packing crate it had apparently been stored in, but that had already been removed, leaving me something about the size of a shoebox wrapped in brown paper. "So, hey, we know he made it to Earth."

Picard dipped his head in acknowledgement, but said nothing. As he watched, I tore open the centuries old – and amazingly well-preserved – package, removing layers of paper, turning the key that was fastened to the lock on the wooden lid inside, and lifting out a cloth-wrapped bundle.

Pulling away the layers of dark green velvet, I found a wooden nutcracker, like the one featured in the ballet I loved so much. "Ohh," I said. "This is exquisite."

"It's a nutcracker doll," the captain observed. "May I?" With head and hands he gestured to me that he wanted to hold it and take a closer look at it.

I handed it over. "I was grumbling the other day that by coming back to the ship instead of heading back to Centaurus I was missing my annual trip to the ballet with my father. God… that man…" I was getting teary but I was also smiling so hard my cheeks hurt.

"The workmanship on this is exquisite, Zoe."

"It's a Steinbach," I said, having found the certificate of authenticity that was in the box. "The company goes all the way back to the thirteenth century, but I'm pretty sure they didn't start making nutcrackers until the seventeenth or eighteenth."

"It's quite a gift."

"Indubitably," I said, using one of Data's frequently-used words. "Captain, thank you for the tea, and for this, but…"

"You need some time alone?"

"Yes, sir."

He handed the nutcracker back to me, and I tucked it back into the wooden box it had come with. "Don't worry about the wrapping."

 **(=A=)**

For three days, I spent every free moment staring at the nutcracker, trying to figure out what message Data had been trying to send. I had searched the box three times, and hadn't found any kind of note, and it wasn't like him not to write something.

On day four, I considered hurling the damned thing against the bulkhead wall, but I knew it would only scare Spot. That was the day I found out that almost every senior officer on the ship had gone down to the planet to see if they could retrace Data's steps. I wondered if they'd gone after him if he hadn't sent the nutcracker to me, but there was no one to ask.

On day five, Guinan came to visit. She declined any kind of refreshment, saying, "I came to see how you'd settled into living with Data." She looked around the space, noted my cello in the corner near the shelf holding his violin, and the nutcracker on the coffee table. "Interesting."

"Interesting?"

"Yes. For two people so connected, there isn't much evidence that a couple lives here."

"I haven't even been back on the ship for a month, and Data was pretty convinced he wouldn't be returning from this mission."

"So that means you need to keep it looking like a hotel room until you know for sure? Do you believe he won't return?"

"I _want_ to believe that he will."

"If there's a way, I'm certain he'll find it. Maybe he already has." Typical Guinan. Cryptic as ever. "You should decorate; put a Christmas tree in the corner so the nutcracker isn't lonely. It's a nice piece."

"Data sent it," I said. "Sort of. I mean, the label had his handwriting, but it's been with Captain Picard's family for – is it okay that I'm telling you this?"

Her answer came as she moved to sit on the couch. "I usually tell people, 'I'm Guinan; I tend bar, and I Listen.'" I could hear the capital _L_ in that word. "I also keep secrets for those I consider friends, and you are one of them."

"Thank you," I said, joining her. I explained the origins of the wooden nutcracker, adding, "But I'm not sure what it means. Why send this, and not a letter, or a piece of jewelry, or something?"

"Perhaps it was Data's way of sending you something representative of himself."

"You think he sees himself as a kitchen tool?"

"Not at all," she said. "And you don't either. I think you're missing Data's message because you're afraid it will make you miss him more."

I stared at the figurine for a long moment. How was this painted toy from a children's story supposed to represent the man – the android - I loved? I could almost see it, almost figure it out, but then the idea was gone again, like Data himself.

"I feel stupid," I confessed. "I feel like I'm letting him down somehow, by not getting it."

"Give it time," Guinan advised. "It will come." She rose to go. "There will be caroling in Ten-Forward again tonight. You should come; we need more voices. And you should definitely decorate for Christmas."

"It's not Data's holiday," I protested.

"No. But it is yours, and you live in these rooms, too."

"I'll think about it," I said, rising also, and walking her to the door. "I promise."

 **(=A=)**

 ** _December, 2384_**

 ** _Harris Farm, Fair Haven, Centaurus_**

 _"Is the Guinan in your story the same Guinan who comes to visit sometimes?"_

 _"The very same," I confirmed._

 _"She wears funny hats."_

 _"She does," I agreed. "It's kind of her thing."_

 _"I like the disc-shaped one that looks like a flying saucer toy. I bet Guinan's flying saucer hat would go sooooo high!"_

 _"You think so?"_

 _"I do. But it would always come back." A thoughtful expression flitted across her face. "Daddy came back, though, right? He came back and he kissed you and you lived happily ever after." Her last sentence was uttered on one breath, with no pauses._

 _"Do you want me to finish the story, or not?"_

 _"Yes, please."_

 **(=A=)**

 **December 2368**

 _ **U.S.S. Enterprise**_

The thing about Guinan is this: underneath the bizarre headwear and the cryptic manner, there's a woman whose advice should never be ignored. I didn't decorate for Christmas that night, but I put on a cheery red sweater and my favorite pair of jeans, left the purple combat boots at home, and joined the singers at the piano in Ten-Forward.

The atmosphere there seemed almost over-bright, as if everyone was trying to compensate for almost the entire senior staff being off the ship, but Mom and Ed were at one of the close-in tables, and my friends – Annette, Dana, Josh, Rryl, and Ray - were at another.

When my voice got tired, I joined my mother and step-father for dessert.

"Any word?" Ed asked gently.

I shook my head. "No. But no news really _is_ good news in this case."

"I don't like to see you moping so much, kiddo," Mom added.

"I know." I brightened a little. "Actually, I was wondering if you were busy tomorrow night. Guinan suggested I decorated our quarters for Christmas, and I thought I might invite a few people to help."

"That's a great idea!" my mother beamed. "Invite your friends, and we'll replicate cocoa and Christmas cookies when we're done."

"I love you, Mom." I said. I finished the chocolate mousse I'd ordered, and went to ask my friends.

 **(=A=)**

All mothers have special magic. Or at least, mine must have, because she arrived with Ed and all my friends, and each brought an ornament they'd either found or created that was meant to invoke a happy memory, and we talked and laughed as we decorated the meter-tall potted pine Keiko had been delighted to provide.

When the tree was done, and cocoa and cookies had been passed around, it was Rryl who asked, "Where did the doll come from? The woodworking is quite fine."

And so I explained it again, adding the backstory for the benefit of those who hadn't grown up with the ballet or the fairy tale. "It's a story, a children's story," I said. "About a girl who is given a gorgeous nutcracker doll for Christmas, and about how the doll transforms into a prince and takes her on a romantic adventure…"

"Transforms how?" Rryl said. His people went through something called _senescence_ as they aged, actually transforming into intelligent sea-creatures called _wwafida_ , so such changes were nothing unusual for him. "Biologically?"

"No," I explained. "Through magic, I guess. It's just a fable. A bedtime story. Magic is a… a reality in stories like that."

We talked a little bit more, and then the evening ended, but for the first time since Data had left for parts – and times – unknown, I was happy to be alone.

 **(=A=)**

I don't know if it was the Christmas tree in the living room, Spot's gentle purring, or just a lethal amount of sugar, but my dreams that night were an oddly happy collection of outtakes from different children's stories I'd grown up with. Some were from literature - _The Wizard of Oz_ , _Pinocchio,_ and _Beauty and the Beast_ – while others were the ballets I'd always loved: _Giselle, Coppelia,_ and _The Nutcracker._

I woke up with Rryl's question rolling around in my head. _"Transforms how?"_ my friend had asked, but I'd been wrong when I'd answered with "magic."

The real transformations in those stories were all triggered by the same thing: Love.

I leaped out of bed and ran to the living room, picking up the nutcracker and carrying it with me to the couch. I didn't bother to replicate any nuts, just worked its jaws up and down, tweaked the joints in its hands and elbows, looked on the bottom for the maker's mark, and that's when I saw it.

Carved into the base of the nutcracker, in the same angular script I was familiar with were the words I'd hoped for: _My Zoe, I am devoted to you. Yours, Data._

Understanding dawned.

Data had sent the nutcracker to tell me that mortality was another kind of transformation, yes, but he was also reminding me that he'd already been transformed, because he was loved.

 **(=A=)**

 **Christmas Eve, 2368**

 _ **U.S.S. Enterprise**_

The ship's chapel was rarely full for any service, but something about Christmas Eve tended to draw a crowd, even on a multicultural starship, far from any Terran colony.

The chaplain, a Martian-born woman of Navajo extraction, spoke simply in her homily, reminding us all of the universal message of peace, love, and hope, and then asked that the lights be dimmed for the candlelit singing of "Silent Night."

The away team had returned the day before, having found Data, and while he had returned home a little bit headless, they had just happened to have a five hundred-year-old spare lying around.

From my position in the third row of seats, I could see Captain Picard up front – he hadn't made it back until that morning. Somehow, the fact that the captain attended church from time to time didn't surprise me in the slightest.

What did surprise me is the sound of a very familiar tenor joining in on the last verse of the song. Data hadn't been with me when I'd joined Mom and Ed for the service, but something had prompted him to attend, probably for my sake.

In the darkened room, I slipped my hand into his, and when his fingers closed around mine, my heart leaped as much as it had the first time we'd kissed.

 **(=A=)**

 **New Year's Eve 2368 / New Year's Day 2369**

 _ **U.S.S. Enterprise**_

Roughly a week later, I looked up from the book I was reading, and smiled at Data, who appeared to be completely absorbed in whatever was on his monitor screen. It was New Year's Eve, but even though we'd had invitations to several gatherings around the ship, we had begged off most of them, making only a token appearance at the party in Captain Picard's quarters, and only even attending _that_ because he was the captain, and he'd made a point of informing each of us, separately, that I was invited in my own right, and not as a polite inclusion.

Still, we were home by twenty-two hundred hours.

"You're not the nutcracker," I blurted. There had been so many things going on in the week since the mission had ended that we hadn't had time to discuss his gift, or the meaning behind it.

"Zoe?"

"You're not the nutcracker. You're not some toy come to life."

He left his console and came to sit with me. "Perhaps not, but one could argue that I am, nevertheless, being transformed by every aspect of my relationship with you. At this time last year, while I had begun to envision a possible future with you, I would never have made plans more than a few months away."

"What changed?"

" _I_ changed. I chose to accept that even without emotions I could be enough for you. I chose to believe it when you told me you did not perceive our relationship as lacking anything. I allowed you to become vital to my ability to function, and even though I am still not able to adequately express…"

"Data, stop."

"Zoe?"

I snuggled against his side, and rested my head on his shoulder. "You express things better than you think. Maybe you can't echo my words when I tell you I love you – which I do, very much, by the way – but you show me all the time how much I matter, and what I am to you. I mean, you sent me a gift across five centuries…"

"Did you like it?" he asked.

"It took me a while to understand what it meant," I admitted. "I mean, beyond that you knew it was from my favorite ballet. But once I 'got' it? Let's just say, that nutcracker is going to be a treasured part of our Christmas tradition for _decades_." I smiled, but I knew he couldn't see the expression on my face – the angle was wrong. "I'm pretty sure you're going to be able to say those words, those other words, someday, but I don't need them."

"You seem much more comfortable here than you did before I… went away."

"I had a lot of help adjusting," I said. Well, Guinan didn't own the rights to being cryptic. "I still want to know how you managed to earn the money to not only save Chateau Picard, but also to send me a present. Aren't you people supposed to be wary of polluting the time stream?"

"It is a long story," Data began. "And one that involves a great deal of research and some… in the words of one of the ancient video entertainments that you enjoy… 'wibbly wobbly timey-wimey stuff.'"

"But you'll tell – " but my request for details was cut off by a soft chime playing in the room.

"Ah!" Data said. "It is midnight; do you wish to 'ring in' the New Year with champagne?"

I shook my head. "I'd rather not move from this spot," I said. I turned my head so I could kiss him. "Happy New Year, Data; I think 2369 is going to be a banner year for us."

His words shivered onto the back of my neck. "Happy New Year, my Zoe."

 **(=A=)**

 **August, 1893**

 **San Francisco, California, USA, Earth**

The courier sat across from the - was his skin actually _gold_ or was he just some poor jaundiced albino? – man and studied his face. As far as he could see, the fellow had the perfect poker-face, a bland expression that managed to mix shrewdness and guilelessness in equal parts.

"I'll see your bet," he said, "and raise you ten."

But the other man didn't seem to find that challenging enough. "I will go 'all in,'" he said, "if you would care to make this interesting."

The courier looked at his cards, and at his chips. He'd done fairly well, that night, which is why he was one of the last two standing. "Interesting how?"

The so-called Frenchman quirked the hint of a smile, and laid out his offer. "If I win, I will require a favor. You will be well paid, but I will require a guarantee that my request will be honored to the letter."

The courier had already delivered documents to presidents and kings. His reputation for trustworthiness was unshakable. "As long as it's not illegal," he said.

"I assure you; it is not. It does, however, require that you travel to France." His opponent explained exactly what he wanted, adding, "Should you accept my wager, I will provide much more detailed instruction."

He stared at the pale man for several seconds before pushing his entire pile of chips to the center of the table, knowing he was likely to lose, and finding that he didn't really mind.

After all, he'd heard that France was lovely in the spring.

 **(=A=)**

 ** _December, 2384_**

 ** _Harris Farm, Fair Haven, Centaurus_**

 _"And that's how your father gave me a gift that was both five hundred years old, and brand new, at once. And ever since then, Daddy and I have put the nutcracker on the table during Christmas," I finished._

 _"I knew Daddy would come home," my daughter said. "And I knew there would be kissing in it."_

 _"And so there was," I said. "Now close your eyes, and go to sleep, and when you wake up Daddy will be home, and you'll get to see_ _Grand-père_ _."_

 _Elizabeth yawned. For a moment, I thought she might protest, but she just asked for a goodnight kiss, which I happily placed in the center of her forehead. "I love you, Mommy."_

 _"I love you, too, Lizzy-Bee."_

 _I dimmed her light to almost the lowest setting, and left her door open just a crack, then moved to our living room. Unlike our first joint Christmas tree, this one was seven feet tall, cut from a sustainable pine forest just a few hours from our farm._

 _Data had gone with his brother and my brother to collect it, and the three of them had come home full of laughter and stories, and, in the case of my brother, too much hot chocolate. We'd added new and different ornaments over the years, trinkets from plays I'd been in or worlds he'd been to, and memorabilia from Elizabeth's first few years of life. Our tree was a three-dimensional representation of our family, a little bit eccentric, but strangely cohesive, and I loved it._

 _It was very late when the mud-room door opened, and I heard the sound of male voices and the rustling of outerwear being removed. I rose to greet them as they came through the kitchen and into the living room. Data greeted me with a brief kiss, and then left, delivering our guest's bags to his room._

 _"Zoe," the bald man greeted me with gruff affection. "Merry Christmas. I'm so glad to be here with you and Data and Elizabeth; Beverly is excited about joining us in a few days."_

 _I pulled him into a brief but heartfelt embrace. "It's good to see you, Jean-Luc. Elizabeth has been bouncing off the walls since she heard you were coming."_

 _We had tea at the kitchen table, but Data's former captain was obviously tired, and, having dined shortly before his transport made orbit, declined a meal, and retired to bed soon after._

 _Data managed to wait a full five seconds after that before he asked, "Did you and Elizabeth read the next chapter?"_

 _"Nope. She insisted that you do the honors, and asked me for a story of my own, instead."_

 _"Ah! Thus guaranteeing a longer tale."_

 _"Probably," I agreed._

 _"May I ask what story you told?"_

 _"Oh, just the one about how her amazing father moved time and space to send a Christmas gift to the woman he loved."_

 _Data's face softened. "The woman in question was – and is – amazing in her own right. That nutcracker was the least I could do at the time."_

 _I smiled at him. "Let's go look in on her and then go to bed."_

 _We left the huge kitchen together, and climbed the stairs to the second floor. Data opened our daughter's bedroom door and for a minute or two we just stood there, his arm around my shoulders, my arm around his waist, watching her sleep._

 _Data crossed the room, adjusted the little girl's covers, and pressed his own kiss to her forehead, before returning to my side. Neither of us was surprised when she opened her dark eyes and whispered across the darkened room. "And then he kissed her, and they both lived happily ever after. Daddy, you and Mommy have to kiss now."_

 _My husband was never one to shirk his duty. His lips met mine in a chaste kiss, the kind that it was acceptable to share in front of 'virgin eyes.' "I believe we have met our obligation. Goodnight, Elizabeth, I love you."_

 _"I love you, too, Daddy."_

 _We restored her door to its barely-cracked-open position, and moved across the hall to our room, where we exchanged a kiss that was a lot less chaste. We got ready for bed, me in a flannel pajama shirt that was part of a set his mother had gifted him with, assuring him that "Your wife will appreciate this during those cold, Centaurus winters," and Data in the bottoms.  
_

 _"I love the way you are with Elizabeth," I told him, not for the first time, as we settled into bed together. "I'm sorry you missed story time. It's an important ritual for both of you."_

 _"I enjoy that time with her as well." His arms came around me, cuddling me against his chest, and he added. "But this time is also important."_

 _I smiled against his bare skin. "I love you, you know. So very much."_

 _His reply, a melding of old words and newer ones, was whispered into my hair. "I am devoted to you, my love."  
_

 **(=A=)**

 **"If being human is not simply a matter of being born flesh and blood, if it is instead a way of thinking, acting and... feeling, then I am hopeful that one day I will discover my own humanity. Until then, Commander Maddox, I will continue learning, changing, growing, and trying to become more than what I am."**

* * *

 **Notes:** Spans both parts of the episode, "Times Arrow." Dates have been left vague intentionally. Zoe first talks about her annual dates to see _The Nutcracker_ ballet in chapter 36 of _Crush._ "If I Loved You," is from the musical _Carousel_ , and was published in 1945, with music by Richard Rodgers, and lyrics by Oscar Hammerstein II. Zoe starts taking boxing lessons from Captain Picard in chapter 20 of _Crush II: Ostinato._ The Steinbach's have been making decorative nutcrackers since the sixteenth or seventeenth century, and Christmas-specific nutcrackers since at least 1818, and are still in operation today. The ballet, which was based on a fairy tale by E.T.A. Hoffman (originally written sometime before 1847) was first performed in 1892, in Russia, though it was not an overnight success. The wwafida and the Akkallans are both from Howard Weinstein's TOS novel _Deep Domain._ Yes, Data quotes Doctor Who at the end. The quotations at the beginning and end of the story are, of course, from the episode "Data's Day."


End file.
